Where's that tumblr text post that's like, "me: starts a post about my mental health / me: never mind. let's internalize this one, buddy." That's what the past like three years have been like. I don't know how to deal with things. My mind vice just keeps gnashing away at these thoughts until I "forget" them, which is a forgetting of the event, not of the content - like, I just forget that I had certain thoughts or feelings in a certain wording, but the thoughts/feelings still live on in an amorphous poison cloud in my bodily tissues and such. Is this a gross visual? Whatever. I tromp forward with vigor!!
The guessing game for the 21st century: Did I just think it or did I tweet it? Like traveling through a murky, boring mirror funhouse.
Here are some things that made me feel some feelings:
"It's been so hard, not knowing what it's about" (paraphrased from
this fic): This is a really difficult part of life, to me. The incomprehensibility of it. Not active confusion, really, just the sense that I don't know what's going on or why I'm doing what I'm doing, why I want what I want, what's expected of me and what I feel about it.
I started watching Crazy Ex Girfriend a few weeks ago and I really love and feel for Rebecca. I cried during that episode where they go to the beach, just the scenes where she's in the bus, so lonely and lost. Trying really hard to keep up and figure it out.
idk, I'll just totally surrender the fight of trying to phrase things in, like... a readable way, lol. To me, the things Rebecca does are because she doesn't know what else to do. And she doesn't know why she does them, either. When you don't know what you want, or why you want it, or how to get what you want - there's no way to organize anything in your head or heart. You can't put things into context. It's a jumble and you're left with just trying to deal with things as they come, a one-on-one basis, but life is so fucking confusing that doing things that way results in fucking nonsense and chaos. Because without any sense of a stable bigger picture, you're left with reacting based on your emotions at the time. But your emotions are already a mess, just an ocean that's always moving, waves and waves and currents and rocks and spray, too many components and forms it can take, too vast to get a hold of. It's hard. Not knowing what it's about.
"Let it be willing": Sort of a more graceful way of being like, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em"? Except not really. (SEE ABOVE: GIVING UP ON TRYING TO READABLE). I've been ~mulling this over because of Gansey wrt the Raven King (
this) and Bucky wrt Civil War (
this). And in some sense, existential therapy (in the Frankl school), which says there is so much you can't control. Accept that, and find the bounds of what you can control, and make meaning out of it. The choice you make matters to you, even if it doesn't or can't reach anyone else. This is hard for me, and also why "seeing" it is very moving and affecting to me? Because it's like, even if you can't believe in yourself, you can believe in the value of your choice. I find it very beautiful. The way you can transform the nature of an action. You can think: In the end, it doesn't matter, because the result is the same. A death is a death, suffering is suffering. But no, not all the time. It does make a difference. Here we are, in a world of chaos and meaning. Walk into it, unburden yourself however you can. That Bucky fic makes me want to cry every time. "'Do what you think is best,' he says. 'I have.'" Something about grace. Something about acting in ways that you can be proud of, in retrospect and remembrance. Something about how love really is powerful - the only way out of the flat, terrible circle of violence - and sometimes intention does matter. 'The heart goes on and on and does not stop.' Something something something.
I made a 7+ minute long ~vlog~ while driving home yesterday where I mostly repeated, "Why does life feel like this?" over and over. Not even "why do I feel like this?" or "why is life like this?" Why does it FEEL? LIKE? THIS? When will it stop? Or more practically, when am I going to accept it? I have to heave my sadsack body through space and time, PUSHING IT AGAINST THE GROUND AND THROUGH THE AIR, insisting upon my own existence even though I don't even fucking want to exist. Isn't that just a hell of thing? Life goes on until it decides not to, or until you make it stop. I ask you, how is that fair?! It should be a fucking opt in system, not an opt out. Ughhhhhkl;wejrkl;jasdf;klhlkasdf
I would like to conclude this post by saying I wrote this all in a crowded Starbucks, EVEN THOUGH I'm sitting right next to counter and my screen is not facing the wall.
